


The Harness

by FallenGabriella



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, M/M, WidowReaper is Implied/Past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-10 21:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20142067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenGabriella/pseuds/FallenGabriella
Summary: Related/Unrelated drabbles of the pairings Sigmoira and Sigmakill.Most of the prompts are answered from the Sigmoira Discord server. Here you go, you degenerates.





	1. Realization (Sigmoira)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira realizes that when Siebren calls her: "Mijn Tovenares", he's really saying something else.

How had she not seen it? In the subtle twitch of lines at the corners of his eyes, the way they furrowed, and became deeper. It accentuated his irises, blurred the divide between twilight and dusk, turning them paler, more purple. They twinkled with the beginnings of his beloved stars. Her favorite color. Then his lips, how they turned, and crooked into lopsided corners. Who had broken his nose? She’d like to break something of theirs. She saw it in how his palms opened, fingers reposed. Inviting, warm. She could sink into him and he would always be there, surrounding her, opening to her.

She wanted to kiss him, slap him, hold him, scar him –

Just so the world would know he was hers.

She stared at him, his face furrowed in concentration, the marker moving without his hand. Yet his handwriting appeared the same, loose and unrefined, in broad strokes. One arm folded behind his back, his other hand clasping his chin, long fingers tapping his lips. She didn’t know how long she stood there, her presence eventually snapping him from his stupor – no one else could do that. Pull him out with mere existence alone. But she could, and her heart leapt into her throat when he _smiled_.

She was a woman. A fully-grown woman with PhDs and awards and essays miles long about the potential of innovating projects –

He made her want to curl up and hide.

Siebren floated down, effortlessly, his lab coat billowing outwards. His feet hit the floor, his arms barely opening before she found herself vaulting into his chest. He caught her – he would always catch her. Even in the heat of battle, when that old crusader threw down his hammer, and her bones shook with the force. His hands clasped and engulfed her ribs, his eyes softening, melting. Even while his brow furrowed, lips pulling down in the same instant.

“_Mijn Tovenares_…” It took the pattering of her tears against his cheek for her to realize. Streaking down, lacing the silvers at his temples. Moira’s chest ached so hard her teeth clenched, lips pulling back as if she wanted to snarl. She only ended up gasping on another breath, hollowing her lungs as she screeched.

Then she was consumed. Pulled down, down, within the same instant into his body. His arms loped over her, around her, while her own hands clawed into his chest. He murmured against her hair, sweet things she didn’t understand. He kissed her scalp and clutched her close, his fingers tangling into the mess of her hair as well. Siebren held her together… Even as her own foolish agony consumed her.

_Táim i ngrá leat freisin_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (taken from Google):  
"Táim i ngrá leat freisin." means "I am in love with you too."  
"Mijn Tovenares." means "My sorceress."  
Moira speaks a very distinct form of Gaelic since she's Irish, known as 'Gaeilge'. Apologies if it's a bit off. Google can only do so much.


	2. Wonderful (Sigmoira)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira patches up Sigma, only for him to say... a few words.

Gashes, abrasions, scrapes, bruises the size of plates; she had seen them all. In fact, she was looking at all of them that very moment. Siebren de Kuiper was a scientist with an impressive build, groomed by their resident wraith, but now, he was also Talon’s resident meat shield. She wouldn’t say he was delicate, but all the trauma he was sustaining couldn’t be good. She’d have to talk to Sombra, their weapons division, surely there was an easier way to –

“You are… wonderful, you know.” Moira paused, deft fingers with barely a smear of blood on them. Her manicured nails, usually a deep tone of violet, were edged in crimson. She had heard such words since joining the Oasis, always cordial, short and clipped. She had indulged them, smirking at their obvious jealousy. She had rarely been privy to it with her peers, from Overwatch, to medical school. But he… his tone bended the words in a different way. No one had ever spoken to her with such open admiration. His voice was deep, yet there was a breathy edge to it. Not arousal, not lust, just a pleasant softness.

“I mean that… I – “He chuckled, a throaty noise that made her fingers twitch. “You’re probably used to people saying that all the time, aren’t you? Far more eloquently, as well…” Sigma sighed, her fingers dragging across his back as he did so. He gave a strained grunt, shoulders flexing as his neck strained. She was about to push him back down, but he was merely turned his head to look at her. Moira expected his eyes to be glassy, distant, only for her lungs to stutter when they stared at her with a keen edge.

“I used to think, the only place to find such magnificent beauty, was beyond the sky. Beyond the clouds, the sun, even the moon, for all her poems and songs.” The drugs. It had to be the drugs, but his speech wasn’t slurred. He was immune to most of them, his tolerance rivaling Gabriel’s. It was what made treating him so difficult sometimes. “But I have been a fool once. Now, I find myself one all over again, proved wrong every time I even glimpse you.” Sigma managed a lazy, half smirk. “You make me glad to be one. You’re a marvel, a true joy to watch. From the way your eyes grow so sharp, to your hands, and the way your lips twitch when you get angry.” He chuckled again, mellow and warm.

“I’m babbling now, but – “She’s certain she’s stopped breathing. She wants him to shut up, so she can finish this, and shove him out of her lab. She wants him to never stop. “You’re more glorious than all the stars. And if I could not see them tomorrow, I would not care, for your majesty far surpasses their own.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moira has a praise kink. Pass it on.


	3. Singing (Sigmakill / WidowReaper Implied)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Widowmaker asks Reaper to dance.

“Dance with me.” Reaper blinked, staring out over the glittering towers of London. The clock in the distance, a monument to the city and a bygone era, had been destroyed during the Crisis. It was restored later, with better supports, and bricks of stone lining the streets. It was a modern relic now, staring at him with a great, orange face, like the moon tinged with blood. The longer beam just grazed over the three, while the shorter pointed to the one. His eyes narrowed, crimson gaze sliding to view his companion.

“What?”

“Dance with me.” He wanted to be angry with her. To tell her ‘no’, but she had already moved to the ledge. She lowered her rifle, placing it against the lip of the wall, giving a lingering caress to the barrel. Reaper could feel the beginnings of a snarl twitching at the edges of his lips.

“I _don_’_t_ dance.” Amélie’s eyes – who’s else could they be? Glittering gold now, but still with that cool, dismissive air. He expected one of her brows to quirk, her lips to gently rise at their corners. The eyes… The same, except nothing else was. The years slipped from him in an instant – he was in a room full of people he didn’t care to know. The music in his ears was pretty, but foreign. The lights were low, the same shade as her irises now, but they were sunlight in summer, warm and soft. A party, with voices, and drinks and food he stomached, only so he could leave early. She had stolen a moment from the arms of the man she married, her hands weaving over his shoulders, dragging him from the wall he had taken sanctuary against.

Her fingers swerved through the air, landing with a whispered hiss against the leather of his shoulder. Reaper’s body stilled, the past, so full of missed opportunities, melted in the cold fog of the London night. Her other hand took hold of his, the heaviness of memory weighing it down, but neither that, nor his talons deterred her.

“Gabriel didn’t either.” He inhaled sharply, though he couldn’t tell if it was the name, or her body leaning into his own. The way her fingers threaded between the twisted silver at the tips of his gauntlet, delicate, barely a shadow of them. “He learned.” His boot splashed through a puddle, moving backwards without his consent. Her own followed, those ridiculous heels that melded into her slim ankles. “You will too.”

There was no music. At least… He didn’t believe there was. But in the stillness that followed, he heard a tune, rising between the grey spires that surrounded them. The moon, the stars, swallowed whole by a passing cloud. The sky was full of them, heavy with unshed tears, and yet none of them would weep tonight. Not over this city, not till their burdens became too heavy, and there was no choice but to waste away in their melancholy. As a boy, a lifetime ago, he often wondered if clouds survived storms. He wished he could hear the stories of the survivors, what it felt like to shake to one’s core with thunder, to be chilled and burned by the salt of your enemies. As a man, he would be scarred by those same feelings, but that niñito had died long ago…

He was rotting before his first battlefield.

Her legs extended, her form shifting within the damp, glittering night. His own withdrew, facing opposite to hers, shoulders and body opening to the icy wind he couldn’t feel. Lost, yet tethered by the hands curling onto each other’s forearms. Her fingers trailed across the exposed skin of his inner elbow, his gaze mellowing, till his crimson orbs had lowered to half-mast. The air shifted around them as they did, circling, leather hissing, and heels clicking. They mirrored one another, strides even and slow, unnecessary breaths trading time.

The tune matched their steps, the echo of their lives – something melancholy, something bitter. There were strings, the patter of bells like the rain that wouldn’t come, and a beat that managed to stay with them through the roar of the wind. Widowmaker – that was her name now – turned easily, stepping back into his arms. He allowed it, this time taking position without her direction. She gave him the lead, the memories from before stirring, clinging to his lips like the wine of the that night.

“Is he the reason you started singing again?” From sweetness, to ash. His crimson eyes narrowed, flashed, but he didn’t stop moving.

“I don’t _sing_.” Not since Overwatch had fallen. Not since Gabriel Reyes had died, crushed under the ruins he had spent his whole life laying the foundations for. Not since his revival had wrecked his body, left him scarred, and ruined beyond repair. That just so happened to include his larynx being shredded, his regeneration healing only what was **necessary**. Which meant his throat sounded as if it were lined by sandpaper…

“I heard you.” He blinked down at her, owlish and searching. “When we were preparing for launch… You were singing.” Reaper scoffed, turning his head away from her, even as he took two strides forward, nearing the edge again.

“It was nothing.” Her lashes lowered, a shard of light echoing off a nearby building, making her irises glow as brightly as his own. She swirled, graceful and too fast for him, her hips, thighs, feet –

He lurched forward, mist and shadow swirling around him, right hand taking hold of her left arm. Just as before, facing opposite ways, and he couldn’t… was there an irony here? Her legs, slack, graceful in their bending lines. Ready to give out from beneath her, let her plummet over the side of the building. Suspended by him, grounded and immoveable. Darkness welled at the edges of his talons, sliding between the silver, filling the scratches and scuffs. She didn’t even flinch. He could feel his heart, useless and slow in his throat, but her pulse… Hers remained steady. Almost nonexistent. He could feel it in her skin, see it in the arch of her neck as her head tipped back towards the city.

“Do you love him?” Reaper’s grip loosened, bloody eyes widening.

“_What_ – “Hissing, rasping. He swore he would never –

“You sang for me once.”

He wanted to let her go. Gabriel had. So why couldn’t he? He released a shallow breath, slow and grating, subtly disguising the shakiness of it.

“Gabriel Reyes is dead.” As if he was assuring himself. Then why did her chin tip just enough; why did those golden eyes sear him to his core; why did they see right through him?

“So is Amélie Lacroix.” His talons ripped through her arm, her body – too slim, too fragile – smashing into the plates of his armor. He stared down at her, eyes wide, burning with the words of a man who should have been buried. Yet her face did not shift, there was no recognition, no… nothing. She tilted her head, golden eyes shimmering. Her hair, loose in her ribbon after the exertion of their mission, dragged across his arm, tangling around his bracer as a dark wind coiled around them.

“Les fantômes ne se sentent pas.” She murmured, never breaking his gaze. Her hand rose, fingers swerving with the same gentleness as before, stroking the edge of his mask with a spider’s silk. Her caress stopped at his chin, the flesh he hid prickling with the sensation he was denied…

His response came as it always had –

Too late.

“_Nada muerto puede_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (taken from Google):
> 
> “Les fantômes ne se sentent pas.” = "Ghosts do not feel."  
"Nada muerto puede." = "Nothing dead can."
> 
> 0-0-0
> 
> Look....  
Look......
> 
> I have shipped WidowReaper since the game came out, but it's never been a ship that I wrote much for. I don't ship it as hard as Sigmakill or Reaphardt, but it is definitely one I still enjoy. Also, if you want to know the song they were dancing to (the one I was listening to on repeat while writing this), it is called: "Empty Crown" by Yas. MrSuicideSheep has it up.


	4. Seeing Double (SigSieb)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After opening a black hole to an alternate dimension, Sigma finds himself in possession of a pet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gift for Smith on the Sigmoira server. Here you go!
> 
> Also, this wasn't the next chapter I intended to upload, just got struck by the need after viewing some of Smith's lovely art. It's all his fault.
> 
> Yay, my fic finally earned it's 'E' rating!!

Experimentation in science was exactly like practice in any other field. Art, music, math, astronomy, dance – they were all the same, they merely required different forms of patience. Motions turning into memory, the senses enraptured in the simplicity of doing something, turning it into second nature. But every time, there was a pleasure to be found; within the notes, within the sure step of a partner, with the pass of a brush, or the stroke of a cord. No, it could not be considered work, when such ecstasy could be found in its sway.

His pet was much the same way. A curiosity that had rapidly taken hold of every last one of his senses, interconnected with the mystery that had ruptured him – a gift? His lips tore into his cheeks, gums and canines glinting in the faint light of the lab. He supposed he’d thank whatever monstrous god had shredded his mind into pieces, there at the edge of the cosmos. A glimpse – madness. Spine jarring, breaking, marrow rupturing, spilling through the fragile strings of his tendons. Ah, yes, that was the feeling he had missed. And he would reap it all upon that god, as soon as he found him. He would strangle him with all the might in his knuckles, make them as bloody as his adversary –

_Oh Icarus_, _did you so enjoy the burning_?

Sigma pushed his arm against the rest of his chair, sliding forward and up. He placed his hands against his coat, brushing them down, the hiss of his gloves against the material disrupting the stillness. He could see the flakes filtering through the air – dust, snow, the stars trapped in an astral cloud. Sigma strode forward, strides measured, neither heavy nor light. His face shifted, muscles relaxing within the tide of his own illusion. A scene. The scene. Yes, that was where he was.

He marveled that the look in his pet’s eyes could so easily pull him back. Reality, not so startling, but… limited, brief. Sigma wasn’t sure what he hated more. He opened his mouth, tasting his own arousal in the air, muggy and thickened by the familiar musk. Sex, combined with masculine odor, but he still couldn’t discern the subtle tones. He doubted he ever would. And yet, there was a comfort in that familiarity. His tongue rolled, curling within his mouth, sticking to the roof. Sigma clung to lucidity, inhaling as he closed his eyes –

Grounded. The world shifting on its axis. Focus existed somewhere between this latitude, and that longitude. He found them, sinking back into his skin, with his taste prickling within his throat. Sigma swallowed it back, opening his eyes. He tilted his head, lips curling to draw the lines of his face, his amusement as palpable as his pet’s desperation.

He finished his journey, sitting on the edge of the bed. Sigma raised a hand, pressing it against the pulsing throat, watching as pale eyes rolled backwards. His skin scorched him through his glove, feverish with the height of that most wonderful insanity, that came only with the edge. He had kept him upon the precipice for so long, letting him stare into the abyss. The heat below, the numbing ache satisfied, verging towards agony. He had brought him so low, so quickly, his pulse throbbing through every inch of his skin. Sigma could see it; it’s echo chorused within his own nerves.

“Oh… mijn beste. Je weet dat ik je niets kan ontkennen.” One of his hands rose, followed by glistening, pale violet. Sigma’s brow creased as his lips formed a “shh...”, goading his pet to continue his silence. “Je bent zo goed geweest. Nog even, ja?” His fingers dragged over his thigh, stroking the smoother skin there. He smiled when the muscles tensed, trembling beneath the leather of his glove. He wished nothing more than to tear them off, to trace and touch with his bare skin, but –

His pet hadn’t earned that yet. Just a little more…

Sigma’s fingers began to swirl, knuckles curling and arching in time with the circles he drew, disrupting the fine hairs. He dug them in a little harder, his pet’s breath hitching. He froze, face once more sinking into placidity. His gaze flickered, taking in the tears streaking down from equally pale orbs. He held them, his hand continuing its journey, indenting the skin of a firm, yet flat belly. His abs weren’t as defined as his own, made leaner rather than broader. Still – he was so lovely. So very entrancing. Especially with sweat beading every inch of him, and his juices leaking into the caving planes. He had wanted to taste, to tease and goad, but –

Patience. A trait he had to train into himself as well. Finally, he caught his pubic hair, blinking when he heard the telltale _hiss_. Ah, yes – There already? His pet had broken the contact, his whole face squeezing, body trembling against the sheets. Sigma allowed himself a lopsided smile. What a sweet, sensitive creature.

“Nog een beetje meer.” The base of his cock was as red as the staff, the swollen head. The whole thing was so wet, glistening with its own leavings, which continued to drip and cascade down. His cock had soaked the thatch of hair around its base, leaving them pearled and covered in a layer of dew. Sigma licked his lips, noting the flush of it, almost the same shade as the blood rushing through it.

Oh… His little pet. His poor creature –

Siebren _whined_.

Sigma’s face fell, watching as pale eyes snapped open. Siebren shivered from the crown of his head, all the way to his curled toes in the sheets. His irises rose with Sigma’s form, his hand withdrawing from Siebren’s shaking body. He watched his jaw work around the gag, the ball distorting his broken syllables. Instead, drool curled down his chin, sparking in the same dull light as his sweat and cum did. Sigma gave a soft ‘tsk’, reaching forward to rub away the mess. He could still feel the heat of his skin, his shaking, as if he could escape his skin. A parting gift –

“Ik kom terug.” A whimper punctured the air as he returned to his full height one last time. He turned on his heel, ignoring any further cries, but Siebren did put up a valiant effort. Sigma heaved a disappointed sigh. He had so looked forward to spoiling him… Well, he still would. But a lesson was in order first. The remote floated into his hand, his thumb idly tracing the setting – a four to start. A broken sob followed his choice, a smirk curling his lips as he glanced back to his pet –

Back breaking from the bed; nipples swollen and flushed the same shade as his erection, but it was the ring around the base of his cock that made him chuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
“Mijn beste.” = “My dear.”
> 
> “Je weet dat ik je niets kan ontkennen.” = “You know I can’t deny you anything.”
> 
> “Je bent zo goed geweest. Nog even, ja?” = “You have been so good. Soon, yes?”
> 
> “Nog een beetje meer.” = “A little bit more.”
> 
> “Ik kom terug.” = “I’ll return.”


	5. Destruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira realizes something just a bit too late...

"Ik zal je ooit vernietigen." She didn't think of it then. With her cunt sore, her mouth dry, and her throat throbbing. Her eyes were too heavy to see his own. Moira thought she heard something else - the crackle of electricity. It didn't occur to her what they meant. Another gibberish phrase from a man half mad, half under her spell. And yet, she would trade him for nothing.

Funny that... The affection she only held for herself, so easily misplaced. Like a comb, her car keys, or the access codes to her labs. Except, she wouldn't be stupid enough to forget something so important. Her life was immaculate, as perfect as her nails and hair, parts of her appearance she had been ridiculed for. Only to make them the most flawless portions of herself...

She thought nothing of it. Another nameless, thoughtless bit of fluff to send her to sleep. Except, the words burned. They festered at the edge of her subconscious, right where she'd buried her doubts. They were unworthy of her, those insects who ridiculed her work.

He whispered them again, dragging his lips and tongue across her dripping petals. Moira searched after that, one night, when Orion's belt glinted against her window. But she couldn't fit the letters together, the syllables passing with the shadow before the moon. It started to rain.

"Ik zal je ooit vernietigen." Again. Again. Prickling on her nape, down her arms, on her thighs, _inside_ of her. What did they mean? Why did it matter so much?

She guessed she should have known - When he shattered her spinal cord, forced it straight through her ribs... she couldn't feel her legs. The world still spun around her, the stars fading into the darkness. His shade flung itself over her, cooling the scorching trickle of her blood.

"Ik zei het je." Sigma almost sounded disappointed. "Did you so desperately wish to believe otherwise?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> "Ik zal je ooit vernietigen." = "I will destroy you someday."  
"Ik zei het je." = "I told you."


	6. Changed (Sigmoira)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siebren was leaving her. And only a shade can stop him.

_I am not powerless_. She had told herself that since she was nine. When the other children would jeer at her hair, pull it, call her names, and shove her into the dirt so hard she bled. She came home, covered in bruises every day. She would never be that scared child again.

Except, she was… Because Siebren was leaving her. She ran through the list of alternatives; chest compressions, fluids, mouth-to-mouth, even adrenaline. The only problem was, his torso was shattered open. His ribs stuck out at odd angles, ivory wiped clean by the rain. Her fingers trailed through his lungs, pushing through, up into his heart. He had always had pale eyes – blue, and then violet. Now, they were white.

The blood overflowed, red, then pink. If she were more poetic, she might find something beautiful in such an end… But there was no beauty to be found, in the crimson-tinged tide, swirling down into the drainage ditch. It was clogged, she realized, as the muck grew thicker, sediment sticking to the edge of her dress. She didn’t turn her head, but she could see his hand sticking out through the grate. She knew it wasn’t right for a limb to be ten feet away…

“Do something.” Gold and violet. She wondered if there was a point to that. The sands of time, the infinite face of the void. “_Do something_.” The specter above her watched with half-lidded, crimson irises. He rasped out breaths of swirling black smog, her pleas – did they mean nothing? Her hand tightened in Siebren’s hair.

“He won’t be the same.” A warning from death. She sneered.

“I don’t care.”

“He won’t be as you – “

“I don’t care.” Moira hissed, cheek rubbing into his slack brow, the scent of iron almost overpowering. Even through the rain, the sulfur, the decay of her companion. “Just as long as he comes back…” Reaper continued staring.

“I made you.” Her voice – it had not broken in over twenty years. When she’d first joined the science division, when they’d shunned her work, and shoved her into a box for how she looked and talked. Rather than for what she had to offer… this, the defeat, and recreation of death itself. “You will obey me.” Reaper closed his eyes. “Or perhaps – “They opened again, glinting, ruby shards. Just like the ones that dripped over that ridiculous mask, off the edges of his coat, dangling from his talons.

“I shall take that crusader next?” He twitched at that; his whole form overtaken by a vicious shudder. His hand clenched harder on his gun, the barrel glittering in the light. Where was it? A broken streetlamp, flickering over the side of a car, reflecting off a scene in a melodrama.

“I don’t care what he comes back as…” Reaper turned his head, and she almost thought she saw something… her teeth ached when she recognized it. “Just as long as he comes back.”

Finally, he knelt down, tossing his weapons aside. He glanced at her, lingering… wondering. Moira nodded, lowering Siebren – what remained of him, her stomach clenched – to the ground. Her palm cradled his head, running through his short-cropped hair… but then she was standing, striding away. She could feel Reaper watching her… but she ducked around a corner to let him work. It should be her; it should always have been her, but it was her own shortcoming –

Glass and sand, void and gold – that was her gault. Siebren’s blood wasn’t the only one on her hands. Her legs gave out. Moira’s shoulder slammed into the wall, a hiss choking whatever awful, desperate noise tried to escape her. She curled, her legs sliding underneath her body, pushing her into the bricks of some half-ruined building.

_Next time_. She vowed, her teeth gouging into her lips. _Next time_, _it will be perfect_. Too late was better than never…


End file.
